


Inciting Incident

by MilkTeaMiku



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Bakery, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Bakery, Catboys & Catgirls, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mutual Pining, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pining, Soulmates, shance week
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-11
Updated: 2016-11-18
Packaged: 2018-08-30 09:26:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 12,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8527789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MilkTeaMiku/pseuds/MilkTeaMiku
Summary: A collection of works inspired by Shance Week prompts -1. Pining/Confession2. Hero/Villain3. Confidence/Insecurity4. AU Day5. Battle Scars6. Dance/Fashion/Music7. First Glance/Last TouchBonus Day: Altean!Lance/Dark!Shiro





	1. Strawberry Shortcake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance has a crush on the guy who makes strawberry shortcakes.

Lance has a crush on the guy who makes strawberry shortcakes. 

Alright, so maybe it’s a bit more than a crush. He’s liked Shiro since the moment they first met when they were children, and he came to like Shiro even more when they unexpectedly reunited during Lance’s first year of university. A lot had changed since then – for one, not all of Shiro had survived until adulthood, and the loss of his arm had made a huge impact on his life. Their age difference didn’t seem as bad anymore either, now that they were both older.

His crush – because that was what he was calling it, okay, it was so totally not outright true love – had escalated pretty fast since he’d met up with Shiro again. Shiro was working for some big piloting company, the same one he was working with when he lost his arm, but due to that he only worked there part-time. He spent the rest of his time working at Altea Café, where he was considering moving to fulltime, particularly at the encouragement of the pretty manager and her father, the owner.

It had been a coincidence that Lance entered Altea the day he had. They lived in a place where the climate had a rainy season, and it had started a few days earlier than he expected. Altea was the closest place where he could duck inside to avoid getting drenched, and Shiro just happened to be working.

To Lance, it seemed like fate. He’d always liked Shiro, and had always looked up to him, both physically and metaphorically. When they were younger it had been hard for him to get Shiro’s attention, and he used to follow him around like a lost puppy. It had probably been very annoying for Shiro, but Lance had been adamant about being Shiro’s friend. Thinking back on it made him embarrassed.

Five years wasn’t much of an age difference now, though. Their experience gap was something Lance wouldn’t be able to overcome, but he didn’t think Shiro saw him as a kid anymore. He was twenty years old, after all, and since getting to re-know Shiro, he thought he’d proved himself to be pretty mature. Well, most of the time anyway.

In either case, Lance definitely liked Shiro. He was kind and handsome and strong, and he had these cute moments that stole Lance’s breath away. The shortcake thing was one of them – once, when Shiro was working in the kitchen and Lance was hanging around to bother him, Shiro had insisted he’d tried the freshly baked shortcakes. “I made them myself!” Shiro said, as he’d offered Lance the tray. “They’re my favourites.”

It was ridiculous that a man as tall and broad as Shiro could act so cutely over tiny little cakes decorated with sliced strawberries and whipped cream. Of course they’d tasted absolutely fantastic, too. Shiro really was just perfect, huh?

“Lance, you’re pining again.”

Huffing, Lance sent Pidge a glare. Their usual study spot had moved from being the university library to Altea café, mostly at Lance’s insistence. The only reason Pidge had agreed to the change was because Allura – the manager – made coffee bitter enough to satisfy him. 

“I’m not pining,” Lance said, as he sunk back into his chair. The décor at Altea was really pretty; everything was covered in green and practically dripped plants. There were little succulents on the tabletops and along the register, and hanging plants above every table. The windowsills housed tiny garden beds that really flourished during the springtime, too. Lance thought the décor was mostly Allura’s father’s idea. Alfor was fond of nature and liked to bring it into his home, and Altea Café was all but a second home to his family.

“You’re pining,” Pidge repeated. He took a sip of his coffee, scrunched up his nose, and pushed the delicate teacup away. “It’s cold now.”

Lance sighed, and gathered up the cup and its saucer. “I’ll go get you more, then?”

Pidge hummed. “Don’t act like you don’t love the fact that you get to talk to Shiro again. Honestly, Lance, you’re completely see-through.”

Lance huffed again, but didn’t deny it. He’d known Pidge for as long as he could remember, and Pidge knew him very well in return. It was pointless arguing with him, especially when he was studying. Not even Lance’s sass could keep up with Pidge’s bitter, straight-forward retorts. He didn’t even want to try.

As per usual, Shiro was behind the register. Altea Café required its employees to wear a uniform, and Lance had never been more envious of clothes as he was when Shiro was wearing them. For what it was worth, it was a pretty standard uniform, consisting of black pants, a white, collared shirt and a white apron tied around the waist. The problem was that Shiro’s pants hugged his ass too tightly and his biceps looked like they were ready to burst the shirt open at the seams, not to mention Shiro liked to roll the sleeves up past his elbow. It should be criminal to look that good.

Shiro glanced up as Lance approached the counter. “Refill?” He asked, chuckling, as he took the teacup Lance held out. “You know you can just call me over to your table to collect the dishes, right? That’s what I’m here for.”

Lance shrugged, smiling bashfully. Shiro’s friendliness never failed to make him flustered. “Did you make anything today?”

A triumphant smile touched Shiro’s lips. “That I did! Hold on a minute, I’ll be right back.”

Lance did as he was told, and spent a minute mindlessly riffling through the stylish magazines stacked up in front of the counter as he did. When Shiro returned, it was with one of the store’s little carry boxes in his hands. 

“Here, I saved this one just for you,” Shiro said, grinning, as he held out the box.

Lance raised his brows as he reached for it. “For me?”

Shiro flinched when Lance’s fingers brushed against his prosthetic hand. He looked quite of shocked by his actions, and nervously drew his hand out of sight. “It’s strawberry shortcake,” he said quietly. 

Lance’s heart ached. He’d never had a problem with Shiro’s arm, never let it make him think of Shiro any differently. He knew Shiro was embarrassed by it, that the sight of it made him feel uncomfortable, but Lance thought it made him seem stronger. He loved that part of Shiro just as much as he loved the rest.

“Thanks, Shiro,” Lance said, as he reached out to grab Shiro’s metal hand. Even when Shiro flinched again, Lance didn’t loosen his grip. “You make the best strawberry shortcake.”

Another smile touched Shiro’s face. Tension slowly drained from his shoulders. “Thanks, Lance.”

Ah, and there went his heart again. Who wouldn’t want to swoon when Shiro said their name in a voice like that? He sounded all soft and fond and relieved, like he was afraid Lance was gonna shy away from his arm or maybe even him.

“I’ll bring Pidge’s coffee over in a moment, alright?” Shiro said, patting Lance’s hand once before moving over to the coffee machines. “Just don’t tell him I made it.”

Lance laughed. “It’ll be our little secret.”

Pidge could certainly hear them from across the café, but Shiro’s pleased little smile was worth it. With a conceding little sigh to himself, Lance admitted that he was pining. But how could he not? Shiro was just so damn perfect! Anyone with a good set of eyes could see that.

As he slid back into his seat, Pidge gave him The Look. Lance just rolled his eyes, and kept his mouth shut. Pidge’s classic “I told you so” was going to come any day now.

It wasn’t like Lance was trying to hide his feelings from Shiro. He just wasn’t sure if Shiro reciprocated them, that’s all. And if he didn’t, then Lance didn’t want their relationship to change. He’d spent his last few years at high school without any contact with Shiro, and even after hearing news of Shiro’s accident, they hadn’t been able to get in touch. Lance always felt a heavy sense of guilt when he thought about not being there for Shiro when he needed support. He wouldn’t miss any of it ever again.

Lance’s other best friend, Hunk, often told him that he should express his feelings to Shiro. Hunk was usually right with things like that, but Lance found it difficult to follow his advice this time. Even Hunk’s rational reasoning couldn’t sway him. Things like “maybe it’ll flatter him” and “I think he’d be happy to hear that” only made Lance more reluctant, because what if he wasn’t? What if it made Shiro feel weird around Lance? What if it made Shiro uncomfortable?

He just wanted Shiro to be happy, and he didn’t know if that could happen if Shiro was with him. Maybe he wasn’t right for Shiro.

But what if he _was?_ What if he was the one who could kiss Shiro in the mornings and hold hands with him when they walked down the street and be the one to make Shiro smile like no one else? It was ridiculous that he craved that, wasn’t it? His picture must be under the “pining” definition in the dictionary by now.

At the end of the day, as Pidge packed up their study notes, Lance took their dishes back to the register. He knew Shiro always said that he didn’t need to, but it helped Shiro out, right? If he wasn’t in a rush, he wanted to help out. Of course, that day just happened to be the day Shiro unexpectedly rushed out from behind the counter, keen to finish up for the evening.

Lance let out a winded noise as Shiro ran into him. The cup wobbled in his hands and, panicked, he grabbed onto them tighter. His feet were knocked out from under him and for a sickening moment he was sure he was going to hit the ground hard.

But then he didn’t. When he peeled his eyes open, he found himself face-to-face with Shiro, who was looking as flustered and surprised as Lance felt. He had his arms around Lance like he was about to lift him into a princess hold. “A-are you alright?” Shiro asked, as he eased Lance back onto his feet. “Sorry for knocking you over.”

“It’s alright,” Lance said. He was holding the teacup extra tight to his chest, but he hardly noticed. Shiro’s arms had felt so _good_ around him. They felt more muscled than they looked, and Lance was suddenly struck by the desire to have them around him again. 

Shiro let out a relieved noise almost without thinking, and took the cups from Lance’s shaky fingers so that he could set them aside. “Are you sure? I hit you pretty hard.”

He could of probably knocked Lance right out and it would have been fine, if Lance were honest. Instead of saying such a stupid thing, however, he put a grin on his face. “Didn’t know you were so strong, Shiro,” he said, reaching out to grab a hold of Shiro’s arms. “Where have you been hiding these from me?”

Shiro laughed a little. “You flatter me, Lance.”

“No, honestly, I love your arms-”

“It’s okay, you don’t need to make me feel better-”

“Oh for God’s sake,” Pidge groaned from across the room, sending them both a tried look. “Dude, he’s going to confess to you, so enough of this sickening, corny stuff, alright? I’m going to throw up.”

Lance let out a horrified groan, and pressed his hands to his face. “What the hell, Pidge!”

Pidge huffed, scooped up their books, and then disappeared out the door. Lance was suddenly reminded of a very angry, very little bird flittering away from the nest.

When they were left alone, the air became a little awkward. Shiro cleared his throat. “Sorry,” he mumbled. “I didn’t want you to know-”

“Wait, wait,” Lance held up a hand, and frowned. “Pidge was talking about me, wasn’t he?”

Shiro’s brows rose. “No, I thought he was talking about me.”

Lance’s frown deepened. “So you were going to confess.”

“I… eventually.”

“And I was going to confess.”

“Were you?”

“Uh, yeah? I mean, I’ve liked you for ages.” Upon realising what he’d said, Lance abruptly flushed. “Sorry.”

“Wait, why are you apologising? I said I was going to confess, too.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

Lance blinked several times. Something warm was coiling in his stomach, like the steam that rose off freshly made coffee. “Now what?”

Shiro looked rather flushed too, as he sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, do you want to go out sometime? I mean, with me.”

“Y-yeah!” Lance said, maybe a little too enthusiastically. “Only if you want to, though.”

“I do.”

“Okay. That’s good,” Lance said, nodding. His heart was racing in his chest, and he still couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing. “Pidge is never going to let me live this down.”

Shiro chuckled, and put a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Probably not.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [my twitter](https://twitter.com/fairydens)   
>  [my tumblr](http://milkteamiku.tumblr.com/)


	2. Criminal Companion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance liked to vandalise things.

Lance liked to vandalise things.

Okay, maybe that was a little dramatic. What he really meant was that he liked to graffiti things he wasn’t allowed to graffiti, and sure sometimes he’d been a bit of a wild brat when he was younger and it came to things like graffiti, however it was different now. He was different.

But he was still a bit of a brat.

Most of the stuff he drew wasn’t even that bad. The general public enjoyed seeing his art, because nothing he drew was insulting or derogatory; kind of the opposite, actually. He didn’t just tag his name, either, though he did sign his drawings with a blue paw print. He liked to insist it was the paw of a lion, though most people kind of assumed it was a cat. Close enough. Point being – it wasn’t exactly graffiti. 

In the eyes of the law it was, though. Even if he painted pretty scenes and encouraging words, he was still defacing both public and private property, and that usually costed him quite a hefty fine. Sometimes he was even forced to scrub his masterpieces away, which felt worse than a fine, if he were being honest. There was nothing he liked seeing more than his artwork stamped across the side of a building come morning, and having it cleaned away was saddening.

Lately, though, most of it had remained untouched. He thought that was mostly due to the fact that only one cop in the city actually knew his real identity, or could be bothered to pursue him. His graffiti was signed under the name “Blue Paladin” instead of his actual name, unlike his official art, just so he wouldn’t get caught. Eventually he did, though, but only because the cop just happened to know him.

Shiro had bought his art before – the official stuff, that is. It was a gift for his grouchy cousin, or something; Lance wasn’t too interested in the cousin, not when he had a guy like Shiro hanging around his studio. He got along with Shiro great, and they were pretty close, at least in his opinion. He knew he had one heck of a crush on Shiro, but he was also fairly certain Shiro had one on him, too. They were kind of together, kind of not. If anyone found out Shiro knew he was the Blue Paladin, Shiro might lose his job, and Lance definitely didn’t want that to happen.

Getting caught painting graffiti on a wall by Shiro was always an interesting experience. “Lance!” Shiro hissed, from the bottom of the fire escape. “Get your ass down here now!”

“My cute and perfect ass?” Lance teased, as he peered over the balcony railing. He had his apron tied around his waist, the pockets of which were heavy with dirty paintbrushes and tubes of weather-proof paint. He knew he had smears of colour across his cheeks and hands, but it was a comforting feeling to him, now. 

“Lance,” Shiro said again, in his no-nonsense voice.

Lance sighed, and admitted defeat for the evening. It was pretty late, anyway; the perfect time to graffiti, when no one was out and about to see him. After rolling up all his tools into the tarp he took with him – because he may have been a criminal, but he wasn’t a slob and didn’t like to leave a mess anywhere – he headed back down the fire escape. 

Shiro had his arms crossed, and a disappointed look on his face. He was wearing his uniform, the one that made him look ridiculously attractive, complete with his tie, vest and hat. There was nobody else in the entire world that could pull of a uniform like Shiro could, Lance was sure. Funny thing was that he didn’t even know it! And if he did, then he didn’t believe it. Shiro wasn’t shallow like that.

“You shouldn’t be doing this, Lance,” Shiro said, as he grabbed Lance by the arm to lead him further away from the street and any prying eyes that should happen to find them. “What happens if you get caught?”

“I won’t get caught,” Lance said, patting Shiro’s arm with his free hand. “I haven’t gotten caught yet, have I? I’m great at sneaking around.”

“I literally just caught you.”

“Oh… But you don’t count.”

“I’m a _policeman, I count!”_

“Nuh uh, no you don’t.”

“And why not?”

“Because you stick your tongue down my throat when you’re not in uniform? Duh.”

Shiro pressed a hand to his face, of which looked oddly flushed. “You can’t just say things like that,” he said, as he pressed Lance against the wall of the alley they’d slipped into.

Lance gave him a puzzled look. “Why not? It’s totally true-”

Huffing, Shiro pressed his hand over Lance’s mouth to stop him from talking anymore. “True or not, you just don’t go saying things like that in public,” he scolded, though his voice wasn’t cold. “It’s private.”

Lance grinned, and licked at Shiro’s palm. “You’re such a prude. Anyone would think you’re a blushing virgin, Shiro.”

Shiro rolled his eyes, and wiped his hand on his pants. He pressed his arm against the wall beside Lance’s head and leaned in, backing him up against it. “We both know that’s not true,” he whispered, eyes hooded. His breath ghosted across Lance’s lips, tantalisingly warm.

“Don’t I know it,” Lance mumbled. He could already feel heat coiling in his stomach, making his fingertips tingle. It was ridiculous how fast Shiro could get him like this, pliable and aroused. “You should totally kiss me again, you know.”

Shiro hummed, and leaned forwards close enough that Lance could feel the warmth of his mouth against his own, before Shiro suddenly pulled away. “Maybe, but I don’t kiss villains.”

Lance pouted, and tugged on Shiro’s vest. “No fair, Shiro,” he said, as he dragged Shiro back in. “I’m not a villain. I’m totally an angel. Completely innocent. Probably.”

“That’s not very convincing, Lance,” Shiro chuckled. However much he disagreed with Lance’s “criminal acts”, he never tried to stop Lance. Sure, he didn’t approve or anything, but that didn’t stop him from pressing a gentle, obliging kiss to Lance’s forehead, anyway. “Go home already, before someone else catches you.”

“Will you come over?”

“Yeah, I will. Now go already.”

“Thanks Shiro,” Lands said, grinning. “You’re my hero.”

Shiro only rolled his eyes.

Lance lived in a pretty nice apartment that was adjacent to his studio. His income relied solely on his art, and while most of the time it was pretty steady, there were some weeks where he really had to scrape by. Either way, he’d managed to keep his little home all to himself, aside from the times he shared it with Shiro. 

After showering to get all the paint off his skin, Lance made dinner and retired to the couch. He wouldn’t eat until Shiro finished his shift, and left the food to warm in the oven while he found a late night movie and a blanket to snuggle with. It certainly didn’t measure up to having his sort-of-boyfriend with him, but it was all he had, and a little self-comfort never went astray.

Knowing Shiro was coming over made him think about their relationship. They’d never defined it, but Lance kind of wished they had. He’d never liked anyone the way he liked Shiro, which was saying something, because he liked everyone. 

But he understood where Shiro was coming from, as far as his job was concerned. He’d worked hard to get where he was now, especially after he lost his arm, and it would be bad if they knew he was associated with someone who was a pest to the police force. Shiro would never ask him to stop making his art, mostly because it was pretty harmless in the long run, but Lance wondered how their relationship would be different if he just stuck to the legal stuff.

His art was his art, though, and he didn’t want to stop anything from letting him create it. As long as no one found out, wouldn’t that be alright? Lance could still be the villain, and Shiro could still be the hero, and no one would get hurt… Lance had a pretty good track record when it came to hiding his identity from his graffiti, after all.

The only reason Shiro had noticed was because he’d been watching Lance rather closely. It was something that had come up the first time they did anything that blurred the line between business and more. Shiro, so far, has been the only person to ever make a connection between the Blue Paladin’s art and Lance McClain’s art. Lance still isn’t quite sure how he’d noticed, but Shiro had been watching him rather keenly, after all. He was kind of flattered, even more so when Shiro didn’t rat him out to the police.

Lance sighed. This felt oddly domestic; worrying about a boy, dinner in the oven for them both, a movie and blankets waiting. All they needed was a cat and a ring and they’d be the picture perfect couple, occupations aside.

At least he knew Shiro liked him back. He didn’t know what he would have done if he was stuck pining over Shiro like some schoolgirl with a crush. He knew Shiro would stay over that night, and that he wouldn’t mention the paint still stuck in Lance’s hair or the fact that he knew Lance would do it again. They’d probably make out on the couch and then in the bed, and they’d sleep wrapped around each other like they were a married couple on their honeymoon.

It was something to look forward to. 

 

Late at night, when the lights had been turned off and Lance was on the verge of sleep, Shiro asked him something. “Do you really think I’m a hero?” He asked.

Lance blinked several times, and tried to process the question. “Well, metaphorically, sure. I mean, you’re a police officer, and you’re damn good at your job. Lots of people would think you’re a hero.”

Shiro hummed. His flesh hand was warm where it was rubbing patterns down Lance’s waist. “I feel like I’m letting you down because I can’t support your art.”

“But you do,” Lance frowned. “You’ve literally paid money for it.”

“No, your other art,” he said. “Rationally, I know you shouldn’t do it, but it doesn’t actually harm anyone, does it? Most people like to see it anyway, and they always take pictures with it. Your art is just like a mural, except you don’t get paid. It’s like your protesting everything bad in the world by drawing something sweet to brighten up everyone’s day. I hate having to punish you for that.”

“Punish me…?”

Shiro shrugged. “I just… I want to actually be with you, you know? And I know you’re completely up for it, and that I’m the one who’s always saying no.”

“Shiro…”

He glanced away.

“Shiro,” Lance said, firmer this time, as he leaned up to make Shiro look at him. “Your job is not worth giving up just because of my graffiti. You know that, right? It’s not a punishment that you’re doing your job when I do something technically illegal. The Blue Paladin and I… we’re different, me and him. He’s just a mask I put on when I don’t want to tie my name to something I draw, nothing more. Lance is the one that thinks you’re important.”

“I didn’t know you thought about it that way,” Shiro said. He pulled Lance close, and pressed his lips to Lance’s forehead for a long moment. “If that’s the case, then… can I start introducing you as my partner?”

Lance flushed. “Yeah. I want to do that as well.”

Shiro smiled at him. It was a relieved look, one that softened his features rather handsomely. “That’s good. From tomorrow then, everyone will know you’re mine.”


	3. Personal Photographs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance was a pretty confident person.

Lance was a pretty confident person. 

He had reason to be, he supposed; he worked hard to maintain his looks how he liked them and spent years overcoming teenage insecurities that used to riddle him. He’d come to embrace his awkward points and long limbs, and somehow, when he’d done that, others had started to as well. Now he was working as a model for a fairly popular fashion brand, and he was enjoying himself.

He had a pretty amazing boyfriend, too. Lance didn’t think he would have ever been able to pursue a relationship with Shiro if he hadn’t been so confident in himself. Shiro was insanely attractive, after all, and he had a pretty spectacular personality. They argued every now and then, sure, but his relationship with Shiro was the best one he’d ever had, and he loved Shiro with all of his heart.

The only problem was that Shiro was insecure, sometimes. Lance got where he was coming from; Shiro had lost his arm in a piloting accident, and while the garrison he had been a part of had replaced it with the best tech they had, it wasn’t exactly incognito. While it moved and reacted like any other arm, it was made from some weird metal and a bunch of other high-tech material Lance didn’t even know the name of. It wasn’t flesh-coloured, either; it stood out.

Sometimes the wound still pained Shiro. His prosthetic attachment surgery had cleaned the wound up pretty well, and there wasn’t as much scarring as one might expect. Lance knew the pain was physical, but he thought a good deal of it might be some sort of ghost pain, too. It always became worse when it was cold, or when Shiro was stressed. 

At least they worked together. Shiro was a photographer now, and a damn good one. He was Lance’s favourite person to shoot with, and not just because they were lovers. Shiro knew how to pull things out of him, how to get Lance to react in the way the brief set by his employer ordered. If he needed to smile, then Shiro could make him smile. If he needed to act seductive, then Shiro could make him act seductive. When it was Shiro watching him through the camera, Lance felt like he could do anything.

Lance had gained his own confidence over time, but Shiro amplified that like no one else had ever been able to. 

Sometimes, Shiro’s insecurities made Lance feel… bad. It was the late night ones where Shiro would stay awake tossing and turning, unable to find sleep, that got to Lance the most. No matter how much Lance loved Shiro, loved every part of him, it sometimes felt like it would never be enough to erase the scars he had. 

It was on one of those evenings that Lance caught Shiro sulking. They’d gone to bed together earlier in the evening, and Lance knew Shiro had fallen asleep because he’d waited until Shiro had drifted off before doing so himself. When he’d woken up halfway through the night, however, it was to a cold and empty bed, two things of which he was not very fond of.

He could have rolled back over and gone back to sleep, like he sometimes did. There were nights where Shiro really didn’t want to be bothered, and Lance respected that. Sometimes Shiro just needed time to himself to come to terms with the fact that he was living without his arm. It wasn’t the sort of thing a person ever got over; they got used to it, yes, but they didn’t get over it. That night wasn’t one of those nights.

Predictably, he found Shiro sitting in the kitchen, hunched over their little table. He had photobooks spread out before him, filled with all the professional photos of Lance he’d ever taken, and even ones that hadn’t come from his camera. There were photos of the two of them, too, but Shiro never put a solo photo of himself in his secret little collection. 

Lance draped himself across Shiro’s shoulders, yawning. “Why are you up so late?” He mumbled, rubbing at his eyes. “Looking at your secret stash of photos again?”

“It’s not exactly secret if you know about it,” Shiro pointed out. He sounded tired, and anxiously shifted.

Without a word, Lance moved his weight off of Shiro’s right shoulder. “But it’s a secret if you don’t talk about it,” he said. “Want me to make my special hot chocolate?”

Shiro nodded.

As Lance sleepily bustled around the kitchen, Shiro started to straighten up his photos. It was a routine they had gone through before; when Lance came to find him, it was time for Shiro to go back to bed. Though not before they’d had hot chocolate. It wasn’t a… tradition, or anything, but it was a comfort for both of them, something that had become a part of this routine of theirs, just like looking at the photos was.

Shiro pulled Lance onto his lap as Lance eventually brought their hot chocolates over. It wasn’t hard to notice that he kept his metal hand hovering above Lance’s waist, not touching, unlike the other. Lance didn’t mention it tonight, but he did press a small kiss just under Shiro’s chin as he settled back against him.

“Is that one your favourite?” Lance asked, as he pointed at the photo Shiro left on top of the stack. It was a photo of Lance, but not a professional one.

Lance was leaning against their kitchen windowsill, only wearing one of Shiro’s pale sweaters, with his hands wrapped clumsily around a mug he had pressed against his lips. He looked like he was half asleep, mostly because it had been very early morning when the photo was taken, and it wasn’t very flattering, but he supposed that didn’t matter. There was something warm and homely about imperfect photos like that, and he could see why Shiro favoured it.

“I like that one,” Shiro said. He reached forward with his left hand to pick it up from the stack. “You look good in this one.”

Lance laughed a little. “I like it too, but it’s not my favourite.”

“Which is your favourite?”

While he hadn’t looked through the photos too many times, Lance knew which one he liked the best. He leaned forwards to rifle through the carefully stacked pile before finding the one he liked best. “This one,” he said. “Though it’s not my absolute favourite photo ever… Just my favourite from this pile.”

It was a photo of the both of them, taken by a friend. They were at the beach, a place Lance loved. The photo itself was taken from a lookout, with the ocean in the background. Shiro was standing behind Lance, and the wind had tossed his hair into his face. He had his arm hooked over Lance’s shoulder and down his chest – his prosthetic arm, not his natural one. Lance liked it because Shiro was so carefree in that moment that he hadn’t even cared to think about which arm he used to hold Lance.

“We should go back to the beach sometime,” Lance said, as he took a sip of his hot chocolate. “It was nice there, wasn’t it?”

Shiro nodded. “Cleaning out the sand from my arm wasn’t fun, though.”

Lance laughed quietly. He’d had to help fish out all the pesky grains that got between the joints of Shiro’s arm. It hadn’t hurt or anything, but the crunching had irritated Shiro so much that he’d spent an hour with his arm stuck beneath the tap in the kitchen, trying to flush out the sand. It had taken Lance and a handy toothpick to get it all out.

With a sigh, Lance put down his mug, and reached for Shiro’s right hand. He could feel Shiro resist, just a bit, but he insisted, and brought Shiro’s cold knuckles to his lips. “Don’t hate yourself because of this,” he said, holding Shiro’s hand tightly. It warmed beneath his grip, so he pressed it to his face. “I really like it when you hold me in both your arms.”

Shiro pressed his face against the back of Lance’s head. For a moment his prosthetic hand was limp, but then Shiro’s fingers gently squeezed his, and Lance knew that everything would be alright.


	4. Lonely Lion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shiro wouldn’t exactly call himself a lonely old man, but… that’s kind of what he was.

Shiro wouldn’t exactly call himself a lonely old man, but… that’s kind of what he was.

He wasn’t all that old, he didn’t think. At twenty-seven he should have been at the peak of his life, out enjoying himself and making social connections and thinking about settling down. He wasn’t doing any of that, though not for lack of trying. It’s just… after the accident, nothing had worked out right. Not his partners, not his jobs, not even his leisure time.

Thinking about the accident made his arm ache. Absentmindedly, he rubbed his shoulder, and rolled it to relieve some of the pressure building up around his prosthetic. There were a lot of things preventing him from living a “normal” life, but his arm was probably the biggest one. It wasn’t like he was ashamed of it or anything, but it gave him a lot of trouble, trouble he didn’t want to give anyone else.

That problem aside, he was kind of lonely. He lived in a pretty sizeable apartment, and he knew it was big enough for another person, but he didn’t even have a pet. Sometimes he wished he had another person to spoil, but the right person had never appeared. Or rather, maybe he hadn’t been the right person for anyone.

It seemed like his moping hadn’t been as private as he’d thought – his boss noticed. Allura was pretty good at noticing those sorts of things on any given day, but she usually kept it to herself. Shiro _tried_ not to talk about those things, after all, and she was exceptionally good at reading him, but sometimes she was the exact opposite.

“You know, I think I have something that could help you,” Allura said, as she leaned comically far across the open hood of Shiro’s car. She had a mischievous look in her eyes, one that made him uneasy.

“It’s my day off, why are you here?” He asked dryly, as he reached for the dirty rag he had tucked into his pants. “I’m kind of in the middle of something.”

“I can see that,” she said, straightening. There were oil smears on her dress now, though she didn’t seem to care all too much. “But this is important! I have a solution for your problem.”

“What kind of solution?” Shiro asked, giving her a sideways look. Allura’s ideas could either be complete and utter genius, or complete and utter torture for all those involved. Namely, in this case, Shiro.

“You know how my father rescues cats, right?”

Shiro sighed. He could already tell where this was going. “Yes,” he said, “but they’re not ordinary cats.” They were catboys, or girls; he wasn’t sure what their scientific name was. They looked and acted just like humans for the most part, if one could ignore their ears, tails and underlying cattish nature. A lot of people mistreated them, and while they were technically kept as pets, they were abused or treated as animals. Shiro thought it was cruel to keep them as anything less than an equal.

“Exactly,” Allura said, “so why don’t you consider adopting one? You know they make great companions.”

Shiro frowned. He’d never actually met one, and never really thought about having one himself. He was completely oblivious about the care they needed, and what their personalities were like, or what type would suit him. He didn’t want to get himself into something that wouldn’t offer the catboy a safe and enjoyable living environment. If he couldn’t do that, then he wasn’t fit to care for someone else, was he? 

“For what it’s worth, I think you’d be perfect for it,” Allura said, leaning closer. She gave him a big, blue-eyed look, one that promised that she would win this argument. “At least come down to the centre and see what they’re like? You can just spend time with them, we need more volunteers to interact with them anyway. You could always foster one too, if you want. You know they need attention.”

That was true. A lot of the catboys that Alfor rescued were brought in from abused homes or illegal selling rings, two things of which Shiro despised. He knew that every weekend the rescue was open to the public so that they could visit and interact with the catboys, and that it was a pleasant social experience for everyone involved. 

“Just come and see them, alright?” She said. “Who knows, maybe you’ll connect with one of them.”

He highly doubted it, but he wanted to continue working on his car, so he agreed. He knew Allura only wanted the best for him, and that she wouldn’t lead him astray when it came to something like this. He supposed there was no point in not going to the centre, right? It wasn’t like he would come home with anyone.

 

The rescue centre was a pretty spacious place. It was a mix between an animal shelter and an apartment complex, he thought. There were caged pens for all the catboys, but they weren’t very similar to where pounds housed stray animals. Everyone got a bed, a bathroom and a privacy curtain, though for their own safety it was to be left open during the day, unless they had permission to close it. Aside from the boarding rooms, there were recreation rooms and play rooms, as well as the clinic and visitor areas. 

It was a nice place, put simply. A lot better than other shelters Shiro had heard about. Everything was incredibly clean, and all the rooms he was led through on the way to the boarding area were quite comfortable looking. Everything was soft and plush and welcoming, and somehow, it soothed his nerves.

“These are all the ones that are up for adoption,” Allura said, as she pushed open a door. “It’s still pretty early in the morning so they should just be waking up. Surprisingly, they stick to a schedule pretty well.”

He nodded. It was still early in the morning, and the centre hadn’t opened to the public yet. Allura helped out on weekends so Shiro had come to keep her company. He had been sure to wear a long-sleeved coat and gloves to hide his prosthetic arm. As much as Allura assured him it wouldn’t freak any of the catboys out, he wasn’t so sure. He’d seen the looks children and adults alike sent him.

Rows of cage doors lined either side of the room. The floor was wooden, and faintly polished. Most of the privacy curtains had been pulled back once the staff started arriving, and as Shiro nervously peered into the first cages he passed, he noticed that some of the inhabitants were already awake. They greeted Allura with soft noises and quiet “good mornings”, though some ignored her. Some wandered up to the front of the cages to peer at the two of them with big, curious eyes.

“See, aren’t they just precious?” Allura said, as she rubbed her fingers against the chin of a little brown cat who’d come to greet her. “This is Pidge, by the way. Come say hello, Shiro.”

He did what she asked, only because he didn’t know what else to do. Pidge was quite short, and looked very young. Two pointed ears popped up from the tangled mess of their hair when Shiro approached. “Are you Allura’s friend?” Pidge asked sceptically, eyeing him.

“I am,” Shiro nodded.

Pidge stuck their hand through the open section in the door. “Nice to meet you, then.”

Shiro shook Pidge’s hand as gently as he could. It would have been awkward to do it with his left – his flesh one – so he had no choice but to use his prosthetic. “You too.”

Pidge gave him a curious look. “Have you met someone like me before?” They asked.

Shiro shook his head.

“I think you’d like Lance,” Pidge said, after humming thoughtfully. “Allura, show him Lance.”

Allura’s eyebrows were raised in surprise. “Are you sure?” She asked. “I don’t want Lance to get his hopes up. I thought Keith might suit Shiro better.”

Pidge shook their head, and retreated back to their bed. “Nah, Lance. Trust me, I can smell it on him.”

“Smell what?” Shiro asked.

Allura laughed quietly, and patted Shiro on the shoulder. “Don’t worry about it,” she said. “Pidge is just very good at reading people, that’s all. Even better than me. If Pidge suggests Lance, then I’ll show you Lance. He’s just a bit… excitable, that’s all.”

Shiro frowned. “What did you mean before? About suiting me?”

She rubbed the back of her neck sheepishly. “I just have a good feeling about this, Shiro. Maybe one of these cats can keep you company, you know? God knows they need a good home, and we both know you’d do anything to keep one happy.”

He didn’t answer her. He couldn’t exactly say she was wrong, but with his lack of knowledge, and his arm… Was he really the best option they had for finding a home? He didn’t think so.

“Ah, hold on,” Allura said, as her pager buzzed. “I’ve got to go open the recreation room. Just look around here for a few minutes, yeah? I’ll be back before you know it.”

“Wait, Allura-”

Without her there, he suddenly felt very out of place. The hall wasn’t empty anymore; there were people milling about the cages, and staff members flittering back and forth to check up on the cats. Their doors would be unlocked soon, and they would be moved to either the clinic for a check-up, or to the recreation room if someone wanted to spend time with them.

Awkwardly, he started moving around the cages again. He got used to the atmosphere pretty quickly, which surprised him, but it was hard not to when the cats would beckon him closer and introduce themselves. They were a pretty friendly bunch, for the most part. Some refused to move out from behind their beds, and others hissed or swiped, but Shiro just guessed they weren’t in the mood to entertain, so they were left to their own devices.

At the end of the room, a cage caught his eye. The catboy in there was eagerly waiting at his cage door, his eyes bright and blue. He had tanned skin and brown hair, and two fluffy brown ears standing up high. His tail was long and thin, and it thrashed excitedly when Shiro wandered past. There was something quite alluring about his eagerness, and his excited mewing drew Shiro closer.

“Hello,” he said, as he lifted his left hand to wiggle his fingers through the cage bars. The catboy obligingly rubbed his face and chin against them, and almost instantly a pleased purr built up. His sharp little teeth nipped at Shiro’s glove, so Shiro pulled his hand back to take it off. When he slipped his fingers back through the door, the catboy started rubbing against them again, pleased. It made Shiro smile. “Aren’t you just a happy boy?”

The catboy only purred louder. He reached his hand through the open section in the door to paw at Shiro’s right hand. “Both,” he pleaded.

Shiro hesitated, drawing away a little. The devastated look he got shook him straight to the core, and he couldn’t help but lean in again. “M-my hand, it’s…”

“Both,” the catboy demanded.

Normally, Shiro would have drawn away again, or politely excused himself. He didn’t know what made him slowly pull his right glove off, but he did. He expected rejection, or disgust, or even confusion. His fingers would be cold and unforgiving against the catboy’s soft skin. He expected to be turned away.

What he didn’t expect was for the catboy to drag his hand up to his other one, and to press Shiro’s metal fingers through the bars so that he could have both of Shiro’s hands stroking his face. His ears flickered as he let out a delighted noise at the attention, pressing almost his entire body against the door. It seemed to feel so good to him that he dropped to the floor, and without even thinking about it Shiro followed. He pressed his fingers through the cage again as an awed look came onto his face.

He didn’t think he’d seen anything as adorable as this catboy. There had been no hesitation when it came to Shiro’s hand, and he didn’t lean into the left like he favoured it over the prosthetic. No one had ever reacted to Shiro like that, and some instinctual part of him was suddenly overcome by the urge to shower this boy with affection in thanks. He’d never felt like that, either.

He hadn’t realised he’d been crouched on the floor with the catboy for quite a while until Allura came to find him. “There you are,” she said. “I was looking for you! Who’ve you got there?”

The catboy hardly seemed to notice her, and Shiro only did when she spoke to him. He drew his fingers away, and stood. “Sorry Allura, I was…”

“No, no, it’s completely fine,” she said, as she grinned. “Looks like you found Lance on your own, huh? Don’t stop now or you’ll make him whine.”

Shiro glanced back down at the catboy – at Lance. He was looking up at Shiro with wide, teary eyes, his fingers linked through the cage, his ears pressed flat. He looked like he was scared that Shiro would leave, so Shiro crouched back down, and continued to pet him. A tight feeling in his chest that he hadn’t noticed before started to unravel. “This is Lance?”

Allura nodded. She leaned against the cage door to watch them. “He’s really sweet, but his energy levels are through the roof. He’s been fostered and adopted a couple of times, but he’s always returned because people can’t quite seem to keep up with him. He really hates to be left alone.”

Shiro could understand that. He hated being alone, too. 

Allura crouched down beside him, and put her hand on his shoulder. “He’s up for adoption still, you know.”

He bit his lip. The thought of Lance being left here alone kind of hurt, and Allura could help him out with learning about the cats, right? He knew he could give Lance the affection he needed, and there was no doubt in his mind that Lance would give him what he wanted, too. When Lance looked at him again, eyes pleading, his fingers tightening around what he could grab onto from both of Shiro’s hands, Shiro’s mind was make up.

He turned to Allura. “Alright.”


	5. Minor Mark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shiro was covered in scars.

Shiro was covered in scars.

It was a pretty simple thing to notice, considering there was one brandished front and centre across his nose. There were a collection of marks around his prosthetic too, ones that dug into his skin and lined the edges of his arm and crept down across his shoulder. They weren’t pretty, and they weren’t nice to look at.

Aside from the scars he had around his arm, he had some on his chest, too. There were so many he couldn’t remember where or when he’d received some of them, and yet there they were, permanently marring his skin. They were slashed across his chest and down his arms. He knew if he turned his back to a mirror he’d see them there, too. Most were small and unraised, especially in comparison to the ones on his arm.

He didn’t like them. The scars made him ugly, and reminded him of things he’d rather forget. Sometimes he spent hours in the shower trying to scrub them away as if hot water and elbow grease could rid his skin of them forever. There was nothing about battle scars he liked.

Until Lance got one.

It was only small; a jagged line just above his right collarbone, reaching towards his shoulder before tapering off into smooth skin. After the cut had healed the scar had settled, and it was only very faintly raised, only just noticeable if Shiro ran his fingers or his lips over it. Although he wanted nothing more than for Lance to one day return to Earth as untouched as he’d left it, he knew that wasn’t possible, and that the scars were inevitable. 

Somehow, seeing something he hated on someone he loved washed away any anger he harboured towards his own body. His scars represented his inability, his failure – his pain. Seeing one on Lance, somebody he loved and treasured, it… It changed him, changed how he looked at himself. He loved Lance just as much as he had before Lance got the scar, maybe even more. How could he expect Lance to love him any less because of the scars he had?

At first, Lance had been self-conscious about his scar. He ran his fingers over it when he thought no one was watching, and wore a twisted expression when he found that it left his skin rough. He looked like he hated himself for it, and that made some part of Shiro ache like nothing else.

That’s when Shiro knew he had to start to accept his owns scars if he wanted Lance to. Lead by action, or something like that. If Lance saw that Shiro didn’t care about them or how they made him look, then he would be the same. It’s how he was as a person, fundamentally. Shiro had spent hours upon hours figuring out the inner workings of Lance; he would put that knowledge to good use even if it killed him.

Naturally, Lance caught onto Shiro’s change in attitude rather quickly. He was proud of his scar now, proud that he’d survived it and that he had something to show for his heroics. It was the only way for any of them to accept their marks, if they thought about them like that. Shiro hoped he’d be able to think about his that way too, one day, and not just say he did.

He felt a little better when he looked at Lance and saw a happy boyfriend, though. Lance’s excitement was contagious, and as long as Lance was content, then he was, too. He wouldn’t go as far to say that his happiness relied on Lance’s, but it certainly helped.

Sometimes, when Lance was fast asleep, Shiro stared at the small scar on his chest. The wound hadn’t been that bad, despite the fact that it was deep enough to scar. Lance had taken to sleeping without his shirt on recently, and it exposed his scar for Shiro’s eyes to freely look at. Shiro wasn’t afraid to run his fingers over Lance’s skin anymore, the scar included. Sometimes he’d play with Lance’s hair or map out the contours of his face while Lance slept, just so he could remind himself of what those little pleasures felt like.

It wasn’t a common occurrence, but sometimes Lance would wake up during those times that Shiro silently admired him. His eyes would sleepily blink open, and he’d watch Shiro watch him for a few moments before properly stirring. “Can’t sleep?” He’d mumble, as he’d slip his arms around Shiro’s waist to pull them even closer together. 

Shiro would hum in reply, and continue whatever soft motion he happened to be doing until Lance’s eyes finally slipped closed again. He knew Lance wanted to stay up with him when those late nights caused Shiro to be restless, but Shiro would prefer if Lance got his sleep. Once he’d had his fill of watching Lance he’d sleep too, and that was all that mattered.

In the end, if Lance could be beautiful with his scars, then maybe Shiro could be, too.


	6. Dancing Darlings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance was a dancer.

Lance was a dancer.

In his opinion, he was pretty good at it, too. He was trained classically and could out-ballerina even a mullet head like Keith, but he liked to dance contemporary styles, too. Really, he thought he had a pretty well rounded style. He worked hard and he loved to dance, so what more was there that he could ask for? 

It helped that his coach was also his loving boyfriend. That was pretty great motivation, if he were being honest. He loved nothing more than to have Shiro watch him dance, to have Shiro’s eyes on him and only on him. Shiro was a great coach, and a great dancer himself. It made Lance practically giddy with joy to work with Shiro, and to be with him all day. A lot of people said it would put a strain on their relationship, but that had never been the case with them. If nothing else, it only strengthened their bond.

Lance loved attention, after all, and having Shiro’s attention on him all day was the best thing about their matching careers. Well, that and the little intimate moments they often had.

The studio they usually practiced in was left empty some days. With just the two of them, they tended to indulge in a more affectionate means of dancing. They had worked in duos together before, and even won awards at small competitions that allowed same-sex partner dancing.

At the end of a hard day, if they happened to be alone in the studio, Shiro would always give Lance a massage. They’d sit on the floor after doing cool-down stretches and Shiro would start at his neck. It would always come as a surprise to Lance, but a welcome one. Shiro’s hands on him felt better than any professional masseuse had ever felt, despite the fact that one of them was a prosthetic.

Like usual, Shiro gave him a massage that evening, too. His hands rubbed firm but gentle circles into Lance’s neck, at first, before slowly drifting down to his shoulders. He knew that Lance’s shoulder blades tended to get knotted up real bad, and his hands adjusted accordingly. He was soft where Lance needed him to be soft, and firm where it was okay to be rougher.

Above all else, Lance enjoyed it when Shiro massaged his legs. They were perhaps the limbs he relied on the most, and the ones he worked the hardest. Seeing his feet and ankles bruised from all his hard work dismayed him a little, but Shiro’s gentle massages more than made up for it.

When it came to Lance’s legs, Shiro always started at his ankles. He’d sit across from Lance and pull Lance’s legs across his lap so that he could warm them with careful strokes. His fingers would trace rough lines up the soles of his feet, which always made him jerk, but Shiro would only chuckle and move to circle his fingers around Lance’s ankles instead.

“You have really nice legs,” Shiro would say, without fail. “I like to watch you dance.”

It would make Lance laugh, because, “You’ve said that before, Shiro.” And he had, every time they ended the day like this, since it made the both of them feel better. “You’ve got pretty fantastic legs too, you know.”

And Shiro would laugh then, as he’d move his hands up to Lance’s calves and knees. “If you say so, but yours are truly works of art. When I first saw you, I could hardly believe that such skinny sticks could hold you up, but they’re surprisingly toned, and I know their strength now. You never cease to amaze me, Lance.”

“Well aren’t you just a sap.”

He thought that the hardest part of it all was not complimenting Shiro back. He knew that Shiro didn’t soak up compliments like Lance did, didn’t need them to know that Lance loved him with all his heart. They were fundamentally different people, after all, and they had different wants and needs when it came to physical affection. Lance knew that Shiro needed physical comfort, that he liked to be held at night, that he liked to take care of Lance and please Lance and make sure Lance had everything he needed. In some roundabout way, looking after Lance pleased Shiro, made him feel secure in the relationship.

That didn’t stop Lance from giving Shiro compliments, though. He still did that, and more, when Shiro least expected it. There was nothing more pleasing to look at that Shiro’s face when he was flustered and embarrassed. It was in those moments that Lance knew he well and truly loved Shiro.


	7. Comforting Certainty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first time he saw Shiro, he was four.

The first time he saw Shiro, he was four.

It was only a small, first glance. To Lance it had become memory now, something blurry and rose-coloured but treasured nevertheless. He liked to think Shiro remembered that moment too, even if he wouldn’t admit it.

When it came to Shiro, Lance thought he became a bit of a mess. He’d loved Shiro since the first moment he’d laid eyes on him, even as a kid. Their five-year age gap hadn’t meant a thing to him, though Shiro probably thought he had been an annoying kid. 

It was different now. They were older, and Shiro had started looking at him properly, not just as the little kid that used to follow him around. He wasn’t sure when Shiro realised what Lance had realised all those years ago, but he had now, hadn’t he? He’d made Shiro look at him.

In hindsight, maybe Lance shouldn’t have come on quite as strong as he had. Shiro wasn’t the type to appreciate strong-willed approaches, let alone enthusiastic flirting and declarations of love, but Lance couldn’t help himself. That was how he acted, even when he wasn’t in love with the person he was talking to, and he had had no reason to treat Shiro any differently at that point in time.

After all, they were soulmates. It had just taken Shiro a while to realise that.

 

Mornings were perhaps one of Lance’s least favourite times. He liked his beauty sleep, and preferred to be well rested when he eventually woke. Alarms and sunshine bursting through the curtains in the bedroom tended to disrupt that. 

Being with Shiro changed his opinion of mornings, just a little. He still disliked waking up feeling tired or unrested, but Shiro made it better. He’d rouse Lance very gently, and kiss his cheeks until Lance would grumpily swat him away. It was sweet of him, and something he’d only started doing during the more recent years of their relationship. It had taken Shiro a while to be comfortable showing Lance so much affection, only because Shiro hadn’t fallen for him as fast as Lance had fallen for Shiro.

Besides, Lance liked seeing Shiro first thing in the morning, too. Shiro was always the first to greet him, the first person whose eyes he saw. Shiro would still be sleepy from waking up, and his hair would be atrociously dishevelled. It was ridiculously adorable, and made his early mornings just a little bit better, even if Shiro didn’t quite realise that.

 

Breakfast was good, too. Shiro cooked because Lance couldn’t function in the morning, and he was surprisingly better at it, anyway. Lance would eventually shuffle out into the kitchen and stand curled against Shiro’s back for a while, until Shiro prompted him to sit at the table to eat.

“You know, I always wondered how you realised we were soulmates when you were so young,” Shiro would sometimes say, as he passed Lance his breakfast and took a seat beside him. “It’s rather extraordinary, isn’t it?”

Lance shrugged. “I just knew you would be mine, even if you didn’t know it.”

Shiro laughed quietly. “Well, you weren’t wrong.”

 

While they didn’t work in the same department, they worked for the same company, so Lance got to have lunch with Shiro just about every day. They’d sit in the park across from their building, and sometimes their friends would join them, other times they wouldn’t. 

Lance would make their lunches the night before, if he didn’t plan to buy food. He made sure to make what Shiro liked best, because Shiro always got a rather pleased look on his face when he found his favourites tucked away in their lunches.

It was the same when they were at home, too. Shiro cooked breakfast, and Lance cooked lunch. It was balanced and easy, and worked best considering Lance’s aversions to mornings.

Sometimes the topic of their relationship would come up then, too.

“How did you know?” Shiro would ask. “I mean, it took me so long to be sure, but you knew straight away. I’ve never heard of anyone being like that.”

And it was true. Most people spent ages trying to figure out if the person they loved was their soulmate. There was no real way to tell, no scientific way, despite the researchers that claimed a person’s hormones or brain activity changed. But Lance had known. A part of him, deep down where instincts ruled, had known. And if Shiro needed reassuring of that every now and then, then Lance was more than happy to tell him.

 

Dinners were small, peaceful occasions, most of the time. They’d take turns cooking each night, or cook together, moving around the kitchen like a well-oiled machine. Sometimes they’d talk, or other times they wouldn’t, and only the sound of the radio would fill their home.

Lance liked eating dinner with Shiro. It felt domestic, and homely, two things of which he sometimes craved so much it felt like his heart would burst out of his chest. There was a time in his life where he believed he’d never get that, after all, when Shiro had been out of his reach, before they’d properly acknowledged one another as soulmates. It wasn’t an uncommon thing, for people never to find their soulmate. Lance had pinned all his dreams on Shiro from that first glance, and he’d spent countless nights aching over the fact that Shiro hadn’t seemed to notice him at all.

It was different now. He had Shiro’s attention, and Shiro’s affection. When Lance had finished with school and settled into the workforce, he’d had the time and motivation to dedicate to Shiro. He’d spent years with Shiro, after all, and even if Shiro had only thought of him as a kid, Lance knew better. It was strange to think that he’d done all the chasing in the beginnings of their relationship, considering his flirtatious attitude. It surprised people to know that Lance had figured out they were soulmates first, and not calm, level-headed Shiro.

He was happy with how his life had turned out.

 

Night times were the best when he spent them with Shiro. If no work had to be done, they’d spend the evening curled up on the couch or in bed, doing whatever the mood dictated. When it was time to sleep and the lights had been turned off, Shiro would put his arm around Lance’s waist and hold him close.

“How did you know I was your soulmate?” Lance would sometimes ask. “I always knew, but it took you a while to figure it out. How did you know?”

Shiro would sigh, and press his mouth against Lance’s hair. His answer was usually the same, was always a reassurance of his feelings, but he liked to word it just right, and always took a moment to think it through. “Well, I think I realised when you gave up,” he finally said. “When you stopped bothering me, and I missed your attention, I just… knew. I didn’t want to ever let you go.”

Lance didn’t often get insecure about their relationship, but at the times he did, hearing those words soothed him. He knew that in the morning, his first glance would be of Shiro’s adoring face, and that in the evening, the last touch he’d receive before drifting to sleep was Shiro’s. What more could he ever want?


	8. Pretty Prisoner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There was a prisoner in the cells.

There was a prisoner in the cells.

Lance wasn’t exactly allowed down there, but that didn’t stop him from sneaking away from his guards when their backs were turned. He may have been a Prince, but that didn’t mean he always followed the rules. He thought he was a bit too much of an idiot to do that, after all, and much preferred letting his older sister, Allura, take care of all the royal duties they were required to perform. 

He kind of liked the prisoner, anyway. Underneath his villainous bravado and his intentionally sour attitude, he was actually a pretty interesting guy. Maybe Lance had a thing for danger, and while Shiro was probably the most dangerous person he’d ever come across, he just couldn’t stay away.

“Prince Lance, are you almost done changing?” A guard asked from outside the tailor’s door. 

Lance huffed. He looked at the clothes spread out before him – unfinished, because sewing was difficult work and the guards just didn’t seem to understand how hard the tailors tried – and pulled his normal clothes back on. The tailors were too busy to attend to him that morning, and he’d told the guards that he should be in lessons instead, but they’d insisted he come for a fitting. As it was, he was being nothing but a distraction to the tailors, who were working in the other room.

“I’m still getting fitted,” he lied, as he straightened out his clothes and brushed his hair as flat as it could get. “This is going to take a while, so don’t rush me! Tell Allura I’ll be late.”

“But, Prince…”

“Are you trying to insult me?”

“No, Prince. Our apologies.”

He huffed again, but it was a more satisfied sound, this time. When he was sure the guards had turned away from the door, he snuck out through the tailor’s room. He was quiet enough that they didn’t notice him, and only after he’d escaped down the hallway did he let himself snicker. One would think the guards would learn to watch him more closely, but he knew that if he got pouty and tear-eyed then they’d leave him be.

Like they did just then.

Sometimes he didn’t like being the Prince of Altea. He wasn’t the firstborn and wouldn’t inherit the throne, and while he knew he still had important duties, he sometimes wanted to get out and explore the universe like other people could. As it was, that was something completely forbidden to him, and he had to settle for pestering dangerous criminals instead.

At least Shiro didn’t seem to mind his questions… much. He was constantly trying to convince Lance to release him, or to help him break out, but there was no way Lance would do that. Even if Shiro complimented him until his voice gave out, Lance never budged. He was smarter than most people gave him credit for! 

“Back again, little Prince?” Shiro asked, as he slowly stalked the length of his cell. The shackles on his wrists that kept him from doing anything extraneous buzzed quietly.

“That I am,” Lance said, grinning. It hadn’t been easy to sneak past the guards that patrolled the prisoner cells, but he’d studied their schedule, and he somehow always managed to flitter in past them when they were changing shifts. He thought it must be a super talent, or something. “Did you miss me?”

“Of course,” Shiro purred, as he leaned against the bars. “Who wouldn’t miss seeing your pretty face?”

Lance laughed, and threw himself down on the guard’s bench across from the cell. “Everybody, of course,” he said, as he crossed his legs. “Thought anymore about joining us Alteans? Then you’d get to see my face every day.”

Shiro scoffed, but each day that Lance asked the question his scoff was getting a little less brutal. “Why don’t you join me, instead? Then you could see the universe like you want to.”

Lance rested his chin in his hand. “Tempting,” he said, because it was. He did want to see the universe. “But you know I’d never leave my home, right?” And it was true. Even if he wanted to see the world, and even if he struggled with some of his royal duties, he loved his home, and he loved his family. He’d miss them more than anything if he were to leave. The thought of not having Allura’s voice wishing him a good night’s rest and his father’s warm hugs in the morning was completely unfathomable. 

Shiro hummed, and took a seat. He looked contemplative, but sometimes Lance couldn’t read him well, so he didn’t try much anymore.

“Tell me about your home planet again,” Lance said.

Shiro glanced at him, evidently amused. “Well aren’t you just a pushy little Prince?”

“Shiro,” he whined.

“So spoiled,” Shiro said, but that didn’t stop him from giving Lance what he wanted. It had taken Lance a while to convince Shiro to talk to him, but he thought that maybe Shiro liked him a little more, now. It was the look in his eyes he sometimes got, the same one he had now, when he spoke of his old home. Not the one the Galra imposed on him – not the one he’d been forced into as their precious Champion. 

For what it was worth, Lance didn’t think Shiro was all evil, not anymore. No one else in Altea would ever give him the chance to prove that, but maybe if Lance could change that… He’d always been an optimist, and he liked to think that maybe Shiro would come to enjoy Altea, one day, if only Lance could keep him away from the Galra for long enough.

It took a while, but eventually the noise of guards searching for him echoed through the cells. Shiro stiffened, and sent a positively murderous look their way. It was the same look he gave everyone – everyone except Lance, that is.

“Ah, I guess I’ve been found again,” Lance sighed, standing. He arched his back to stretch, and rolled the kinks out of his shoulders. He’d been sitting for far too long. “Same time again next week?”

“I don’t really have a choice, do I?”

Lance laughed quietly, and wondered closer. “We both know that you enjoy this,” he said. On a whim, he reached his hand through the bars, and pressed his palm to the top of Shiro’s head. Surprisingly, Shiro didn’t jerk away from him. “You could be happy here,” he said.

With the guards looming, Lance withdrew his hand, and started down the hallway. If he heard a quiet, “Who says I’m not happy just seeing you?” echo behind him, then he pretended that he hadn’t.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shance Week was a fun experience ^^ thanks for reading!


End file.
